Just Like Heaven
by LittleHeartagram
Summary: Dear Izzy- Please hurry up and finish school so you can come home to us. New York misses you. We...I...miss you. MarkxOc. Rated just to be safe, because I normally have an awful potty mouth.
1. Chapter 1

**READ, POR FAVOR**: Hola. This is just my stab at a MarkxOc fanfiction. If it's awful (or good, which I doubt), tell me so I can stop (or continue…). Don't kill me if it sucks- I gave up on my last story due to a case of chronic writer's block. Yeah... SO THROW YO MITTENS AROUND YO KITTENS…AND AWAAAY WEEE GOOOOOOO! Eh…heh…heh. Grease moment. Sorry. ^0^''

This will be told through **Mark's POV.**

**HUGE, FAT, UGLY DISCLAIMER:** Jonathan Larson, may he rest in peace, created RENT and all of its greatness. I don't know who owns the rights to it now, but I do know it (sadly) sure as hell isn't me. :,( And credit for the title goes to the Cure...since it's their song, and they shall forever remain my favorite non-Broadway artist. :)

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** January 10****th****, 1987**

**Dear Mark,**

** Can you believe pretty soon it'll be two years since I've seen New York? I'm almost halfway through school- and then I'll be back home! Hey, Italy's great and all, but my home will always be back in NY with you guys!**

** Sooo, you and Maureen, huh? Wow, that's really…unlikely. But, I'm still happy for you! It's about time you got a ****real**** girlfriend! I guess opposites ****do**** attract…**

** How was your New Year's? Did you spend it with her? ;D Hah, I can just see how red your face is turning right now! I spent that weekend in Venice with my roommate, aka the only civil person I've met here. Anyways, it's probably one of the most beautiful places in the world. I plan on going back soon to get some drawings done of the scenery. I really wish you could capture a place like this on camera…its breathtaking.**

** Anyway, school still pretty much sucks. I'm almost sure I've told you that in every letter I've sent you, too. I'm still the "stupid misfit American" who just doesn't belong there. I mean, I'm learning a lot more and most of the professors are nice, but 99% of the students are just bitches who think they can get away with talking about me in their native tongue. Heh, I guess my mom sitting me down for an hour every day and forcing me to learn Italian finally paid off, eh? And, well, that lovely 1% just happens to be my roommate and her normal, non-bitchy friends.**

** Oh, by the way, tell Roger I ****LOVED**** the recording of his songs you guys sent me! He sounds absolutely amazing! Hey, I guess he wasn't kidding when he told us he'd be greater than Robert Smith one day! By the way, has he been doing okay? How're things with him and that new girl? Please, tell him to ****stay out of trouble****, for everyone's sake. I know you're probably already breathing down his neck about it, but I'm still worried from the other side of the world!**

** So, how've you been lately? ****Love-struck****? Ah, sorry, Marky, you're just too fun to tease! How's your ****baby****? And I meant the camera this time, not Maureen…**

** Oh, and how's Collins been doing? Is he staying out of trouble? (Like that's possible for him…) Did he get the thumbs up from MIT yet? Not that he'll really need it- we all know he'll make it anyway. He's smart, just…extreme.**

** Yeah, that's me lately. I'm pretty bored with my life, so I didn't have much to say. And I know, I know- I still wrote you more than a page, but you know that's not enough for my motor mouth! Anyway, I'm counting down the days till I graduate! I miss you guys so much!**

**Love,**

**Izzy**

Letters from Izzy were always the best part of my week. I wish I could get one every day. Sadly, that's impossible when she's all the way in Italy. Isabella Amoretti, or "Izzy", as we called her, has been one of my best friends since I was about 3. Eventually, we found Roger in kindergarten, and Collins not too long after that. Collins and Roger were always finding some type of trouble to get into, while Izzy nervously chased after them, making sure they didn't get hurt, and I just awkwardly stood there, watching with my glasses that were too big for my face. Yes, we were always a band of misfits…

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_F L A S H B A C K_

_ "Roger!" A nervous, 7 year-old Izzy yells up to our rambunctious friend. He was sitting on an unsteady branch in a tree in her backyard. Izzy was always a cute kid. Her brown curls fell slightly past her shoulders and her eyes of the same color were always wide with worry for her troublemaking friends. She was always dressed in girly, floral print dresses and dressy, but uncomfortable, matching shoes that she'd always kick off to run around barefoot. "Roger, please! You're gonna get hurt!"_

_ "I'm fine!" The young, 1972 version of Roger protests- even back then, he rocked the "shaggy blonde hair and worn out jeans" look._

_ "I-izzy?!" I ask, timidly. "Maybe I should go get Mrs. Davis?!" There was a fine line between Izzy's and my worrying. Izzy had a genuine concern for her friends. She was like our mini-mom, even though she was the youngest by a few months. I, on the other hand, was just a nervous wreck. Izzy may have worried a lot, but at least she could at least put that aside to have a little fun. I couldn't leave my own room without being scared something bad would happen._

_ "Look out below!" Collins howls. But, back then, he was known as our friend "Tommy". I know, it sounds weird now, but we didn't really take up calling him by his last name until towards the end of middle school. Thank God it came eventually, though, because I'd feel pretty weird at 22 years old, calling my best friend "Tommy", especially when the cute and innocent little boy name didn't fit him anymore._

_ "Tommy!" Izzy and I yell in unison at our other friend; he was swinging on a loose branch, as if he were Tarzan. "Get down!" Collins groans and reluctantly lets go of the branch, allowing him to soar a few feet across the yard and land flat on his stomach._

_ "Whoa!" He shouts, excitedly. "That was __awesome__! Roger, you have to try it!"_

_ "No, you don't!" Izzy angrily spits out in a much more stern tone._

_ "Oh, relax," Roger replies as he jumps over to the same loose branch, swinging back and forth, higher and higher. "I'll be just fine…"_

_ At about 11 PM that night, little Roger left the ER with his right arm covered in a white plaster, then held place in a sling. The dumbass broke his arm and dislocated his shoulder._

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It's been about 2 years since any of us have seen her. After high school, Izzy was accepted into _Accademia di Belle Arti di Roma_, or Academy of the Fine Arts of Rome (either way, it's a mouthful to say.) We still write each other every week and she'll call once or twice a month, but it's obviously still not the same…

My train of thought was cut off by the sound of heavy feet dragging an indifferent-looking Roger into the loft. "Hey," I say as he throws his old, leather jacket on the chair next to me. "You okay?" Still, no reply. "Uh, I get a letter from Izzy today…she really liked your songs." Once again, nothing. I stay silent for a moment, and then hesitantly ask, "This has something to do with April, doesn't it?" He stops in his tracks to shoot me a glare that could've possibly burned holes in my soul. He then storms off into his room and slams his door shut. Great. I put Izzy's letter to the side on our old coffee table and begin to write my reply.

** Dear Izzy,**

Ugh, no…why did it sound okay when she wrote it, but too formal when I said it back?

** Hey, Izzy,**

No, again- way to casual for a letter.

** Izzy,**

Too simple? Oh well, it will do for now.

** Wow, 2 years already? I still don't think it's going by fast enough, though…****I...****We can't wait until you get home…**

I immediately stop writing when I hear a smacking sound coming from Roger's room. I quickly jump up and dart toward his door, swinging it open and carelessly allowing it to smash into the wall behind it. My face completely drops at the sight of Roger, sitting on his bed with one sleeve rolled up and a syringe in the opposite hand. "Rog, please…" I protest altruistically, concerned for my friend's mental and physical well-being. "We could…I mean…you don't have-" I cut off my own stuttering when Roger looks up at me with a cold, blank stare. "…I…R…Roger…" I take another pause to get my words out. "Do you really want-" Without even glancing back down at his arm, Roger shoves the needle dead-on into the vein in his wrist.

I cringe at the sight- a sight I was hoping to never have to see again.

Roger takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the drug completely take over his trembling body. "Roger," I say, less scared and more seriously this time. "Why?" Still without a word, Roger abruptly stands up. He walks right past me, as if I wasn't there, grabs his jacket and heads toward the door. "Where are you going now?!" I angrily call out to him. He simply slams the front door in reply.

There was nothing worse than watching your best friend completely tear his life apart.

_** Speeeeeeeaaaaaaak…*beep***_

Weird…I guess I've gotten so used to screening our calls, I don't even hear the phone ring anymore.

"Marky, it's me!" Maureen's cheery voice announces over the speaker. "Pick up the phone! I-"

"Hello?" I answer, interrupting her message.

"Mark! Where are you? You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago!" Oh, shit…

"Uh, yeah, sorry," I reply, trying to make it sound like I didn't forget about the date we had tonight. Then again, if she didn't go MIA all day, I would have remembered. With the way she'd always disappear, I'd forget she was even living with us sometimes. But, hey, Maureen will be Maureen, and there was no putting a stop to that. "I'm leaving now." I hang up the phone before she has the chance to yell at me to hurry up. I quickly throw on my jacket, and then grab my camera that was sitting right next to my unfinished letter to Izzy.

I let out a deep sigh when I scan over the three pathetic sentences I've replied with so far. I really wanted to be able to mail it by tomorrow…

_ Maureen's impatient; don't keep her waiting_, a little voice in my head tells me. _She can get violent when she's angry_…

I take one more glance at the letter, and then head toward the door.

I mean, Izzy can wait one more day, right?

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And that was my pathetic attempt. I don't plan on posting another chapter until someone's actually dimwitted enough to think this is worth reading…so, yeah.

Peace, Love and Cuteness

Veg ^-^


	2. Chapter 2

Yoo, Veg is back. Yeah, so, I didn't get any reviews last time, and I doubt that anyone read it, but whatever. I decided I'd post another chapter today, considering it's the last time I'll have before the weekend because I have an awkwardly short spring break. -_- *grumblegrumble* Oh, PS, I'll be volunteering at the library tomorrow where the children's librarian is a scary rapist. If you're not gonna review, at least wish me luck…D:

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned Rent, I'd be snuggling with Mark Cohen upstairs- not in my basement, writing this.**

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****February 20th, 1988**

**Dear Izzy,**

**I really hope this made it to you by the 25th, or at least earlier. So, on that note…**

**HAPPY 23RD BIRTHDAY!!**

**Your friends here have all granted you permission to have fun for once. Go out, get wasted, whatever. It's your day, Izz! I'm just sorry none of us can be there to spend it with you.**

**So, as of last week, you've officially met your 3-year mark. I bet it feels awesome, huh? Congratulations, you're the only one out of all of us who's doing something useful with your life. We're proud of you! And I'm glad to here you've finally made some friends- just make sure they know they'll never live up to your real friends back home!**

**And, yes, Maureen and I are still together (believe it or not.) Can you try and think of a new way to embarrass me, though? It's kind of getting old. Besides, who have you been seeing lately? Well, considering you'd never tell us, we've come to a conclusion ourselves. So, now, you're apparently engaged to some gorgeous, intelligent, Italian artist who paints shirtless. :) Ahah, sorry- you know the only reason I dared to tell you that was because you're too far away to beat me to a bloody pulp!**

**Anyway, I've been bored lately, due to an almost empty loft. Benny moved out forever ago because things are getting serious with him and this Allison girl. Its actually been awhile since we've heard from him. Collins left for MIT last week. He just called last week- said he liked it there and all was well. Let's just hope that means he isn't causing too much commotion yet. He also told me to tell you "hi". And then, well, Roger…you know what's going on with him now. He and April will get into a fight, then he'll shoot up and disappear for a few days, and when he comes back, everything is back to normal. That happens almost every week. It really is sad…one of our best friends is just throwing it all away- his talent, his life… I wish you could talk some sense into him.**

**Anyway, how've you been lately? Besides the bitchy students you always complain about, how's school going? Are you just blowing everyone away with your talent? Hah, that's probably why they all hate you, they're jealous! AND DON'T HESITATE TO SEND US ONE OF YOUR AMAZING CREATIONS. Our loft's walls are pretty bare…(*ahem* hint…)**

**Well, I guess that's enough of my rambling, huh? After all, it is your birthday! So go out and party…and promise me you'll take a shot of Absolut for your boho boys back home! Oh, but, one more thing! I hope you like our present! I know it's not much, but I have a feeling it will make you smile.**

**Love,**

**Mark**

Reading a letter from Mark was always the highlight of my week, and the fact that I was able to get one on my birthday just made it even better. Mark Cohen is, and will always be, my best friend- not even the fact that we're on opposite sides of the world can change that. I loved Mark as if he were my own blood. I don't think I spent even one day without him growing up. I glanced down at the small, rectangular package that came with the letter. I smile- they really didn't have to do that. I rip off the shiny, silver wrapping paper, revealing two black picture frames that were stacked on top of each other. A yellow sticky note covered the one on top with a message written on it, that just happened to be in Roger's sloppy print.

**Izz-**

**I'm sorry you never really hear from me much, but I'll always remember you as both my best friend and mini-mom. I can't wait for your return home next year- Mark's not doing a very good job of watching after me. Have an awesome birthday!**

**-Roger**

I carefully place the note from Roger on my nightstand- that was definitely something I'd be saving. The last time I talked to him was a few months ago over the phone. I guess Mark was able to get him to write it on a good day…Ever since Roger started his addiction, he supposedly became a different person- and I wasn't there to help him through it like I always was…

Trying to take my mind off my troubled friend, I shake my head and resume studying the picture.

They couldn't have chosen a better one to send me. It was taken in my house in '82, the night of our junior prom. Maureen, Collins, Mark, Roger and I stood in my foyer in front of my stairwell with our arms slung over each other's shoulders. I noticed that under each person, his or her name was signed in a silver marker. Smiling, I stand the picture up on my nightstand, next to Roger's note. A note, but this time in Mark's handwriting, also covered up the next picture.

**Finding this picture brought back an old memory I never wanted to forget, and I hope it does the same for you. Happy birthday, Izzy!**

**Love,**

**Mark**

And he was right about the picture…

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_F L A S H B A C K_

"_Hey, Izz, what was your curfew again?" Roger jokes, showing me his watch. I glance down at it- it was almost 1 AM. I promised Mom I'd be home a half hour ago._

"_Damn," Mark says when he notices. "I guess we better hurry then, huh?" Roger rolls his eyes and I giggle. "What?"_

"_I'm already late as it is," I say. "C'mon, let's go to the beach for awhile."_

_It was a few days after I turned 16, and as my gift, Mark and Roger made sure to get me to Jones Beach to see the Cure, otherwise known as my favorite band. The three of us took a barefoot stroll on the beach after the show, letting our feet sink into the wet sand on the shore. "I'm going to be even bigger than that guy one day," Roger says with a haughty smile._

"_Who, Robert Smith?" I ask, referring to the lead singer of the Cure._

"_Yeah, him," he replies. "In a few years, I won't even have time for small venues like this. I'll be playing annual shows in Madison Square Garden." Mark and I exchange glances and small, unnoticeable smirks- Roger was always the big dreamer. As he continues to fantasize about becoming a huge rock star, he slings his arms over our shoulders._

"_And we'll be front and center every show, cheering you on, Rog," I assure him._

"_Well, who knows if you'll have time for that," he continues. "Izz, by then, you'll have your own showroom at the Louvre-" I scoff at this statement, but he ignores me, "-and Mark will be living off our support." Mark shoots him a glare._

"_Thanks," he sardonically replies. We just kind of shrugged him off- Mark knew Roger was clearly trying to push his buttons. They had that kind of love/hate friendship._

"_And I'm sure, by that time also, Collins will destroy our whole government and Maureen will become a world famous street performer," I chime in. Roger nods contently._

"_You read my mind."_

"_We'd be living in a pretty messed-up world, then," Mark brusquely states._

"_Well, frankly, this world's already fucked up enough. So, why not make it a little more interesting?" We just laugh at our lovely little friend and slow down our walk. "Hey, look," Roger takes his disposable camera out of his pocket. "There's still a picture left." He holds the camera up to his eye and steps back from Mark and me. "C'mon, say cheese!"_

"_I don't wanna," I object with a pout. Mark sighs and roughly grabs me. "HEY!"_

"_Just shut up and smile," he says, tightening his grip around my waist. I groan, and then flash the camera a genuine smile._

"_What time is it?" I ask after the flash goes off. Roger stares down at his watch, trying to figure out the time as quickly as possible._

"_One…twenty…seven…ish," he replies, letting out a yawn._

"_Tired?" Mark asks._

"_Actually, I'm hungry," was his blunt reply. Mark and I both agree with his statement._

"_Well, we better hurry and get to the parking lot for the next bus. I guess we can stop by somewhere near home to eat."_

_The three of us ended up at the diner down the street from our neighborhood until about 4 AM. My mom was pissed, but it was so worth it._

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I smile down at the picture of Mark and I on the beach. It felt like that night was just last week, rather than 7 years ago.

"Buon compleanno a te, buon compleanno a te," The Italian song of my roommate's sweet voice cut off my thoughts. She flashes her perfectly white smile as she lets herself in my room. "Buon compleanno cara Izzy- buon compleanno a te!" I smile in return. "Ciao, birthday girl," she says. "You're still not ready?" I then sigh- I really didn't want to go out tonight. After all, I did have class in the morning.

"Thanks, Rose," I say, regarding the song. "And no, sorry. I got…distracted." Rosalia glances at my bed- on it were ripped wrapping paper, Mark's letter and the picture I just finished observing.

"Someone sent you a present?" She asks.

"Oh, yeah," I reply with a smile. She sits herself on my bed and picks up the picture. Tucking a piece of her silky black hair behind her ear to get a better look, she smirks down at the photograph.

"Is this that guy you're always writing? Mitch, or whatever?" She hands me the picture back. I stand up and start to search for a place to put it.

"You mean Mark? Yeah, that's him." She then picks up the prom picture on my nightstand.

"You should wear dresses more often. You look so pretty," she tells me. I roll my eyes.

"I'd rather not."

"You're pretty, Izz. You just need to embrace your inner girl!" Her face then lights up. "Starting tonight! I have the perfect thing for you to wear!"

"Rose, no-" Before I can finish, she darts out the door. After about a minute or two of hearing her rummage through her closet, she comes back in with the article of clothing. I arch an eyebrow at it. "I don't think I'd have the right pants to wear with it."

"Pants?" She asks, dumbfounded. "No, no! It's a dress, silly!" I stare blankly at the "dress"- it was a vibrant purple color, and appeared to be short and tight with those weird sleeves that went off your shoulders.

"No. Fucking. Way."

"Izzy! I'm appalled at such language!" She says, dramatically. Hey, she wasn't majoring in theatre for nothing. She tosses the dress at me and it lands perfectly on my face. "Just try it on." I groan, angrily tear the thing off my face and storm into the bathroom. Once I shut the door, I hear the phone ringing.

"Answer it!" I call out. After hear it ring a few more times, I sigh. "Rose!"

"Salve?" I hear her thick accent answer. "Oh, Izzy?" She then lets out a gasp. "Oh, is this…uh, Mark!" My face lights up when I hear my friends name and I quickly swing my bathroom door open, snatching the phone from my roommate. "Wow, Izz," She loudly says, chuckling. I already knew it was because I came out in nothing but my bra and shorts. "Glad you're comfortable enough to run around naked in front of me." I shoot her a playful glare.

"Mark?" I ask, gleefully, as I hold the phone to my ear. I hear some very recognizable voices, laughing hysterically.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Izzy! Happy birthday to you!" They all sing once their laughter is calmed.

"Well, I know you were only looking forward to talking to Mark, but Collins and I are on the line, too," Roger's voice sarcastically states.

"Well, Rog, maybe its because Mark's the only one who ever bothers to talk to me anymore!" I shoot back. "Wait, didn't Collins leave last week?"

"Well, Izz," Mark chimes in, "there's this beautiful thing called 3-way calling…" I just roll my eyes, not paying attention to the fact that none of them were there to see.

"Oh, fuck you, Cohen," I lightheartedly state.

"Whoa there!" Collins says in a surprised tone. "I see you've picked up some language over there!" I smile, once again unaware of the fact that Rose the only other person in the room with me.

"So, how's MIT? You start any trouble yet?"

"Not yet…" His tone was mischievous and impish.

"Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Alright, alright. How's Italy?"

"You going out tonight?" Mark asks.

"Yeah, I'm being forced…"

"Damn right, you are!" Rose says, rather loudly again. I ignore her.

"Oh, by the way, I got the presents today! Thanks so much!"

"Yeah, its no big deal- it's really not much." Mark replies. "You're welcome, though."

"No, really, it was perfect. I loved them."

"It was all my idea!" Roger shouts from the background. I giggle- I missed those guys so much.

"I caught Roger in a good mood this morning," Mark explains in a hushed tone.

"I heard that!"

"How's he been?" I ask.

"It's been a…weird week for him. He seems…happy."

"Is that a bad thing?" Collins questions.

"With the way he normally is, yes."

"Hey, let the boy be happy while he can! I mean, poor thing has to live with you and all…"

"Thanks so much, Izz." I could just see him rolling those pretty, blue eyes at me.

"Alright, well, I think we should let Izzy go and get ready for her big night out," Collins suggests.

"Yeah, I guess," Mark says, reluctantly. "Hey, remember what I told you, Izz!"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun; get wasted, blah blah blah."

"You're missing something!" I sigh.

"And take a shot of Absolut for you guys, I know." My friends laugh, most likely amused at the fact that the girl who played mom to them for so many years was actually going out, drinking. They all wish me a happy birthday before hanging up.

"Alright, now go get your ass in that dress!" Rose demands the second I put the phone down. I just obey this time, knowing I had no chance of winning an argument with the most stubborn person I know.

That night, I had to go out dressed as my roommate's little Barbie doll. We went out to dinner with a few other friends then went barhopping. I'm positive I had a few more shots than I was instructed to. I woke up at 3 PM the next day with a hangover that made me feel like I was hit by a truck. Naturally, I skipped class that day.


	3. Chapter 3

Sooo, here's part three. Yeah. I'd just like to take a minute to thank **livromaniaque** for being the only person to review so far. You made my life. My little brother just gave me a glittered clothespin. The end.

**I give up on coming up with disclaimers, so lets just say the only person I own is Izzy…as creepy as that sounds.**

Part three is told from **Mark's POV**. I like to switch back and fourth. :P

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"June 17th, 1989," I narrate from behind me camera, pointing the lens out the window. "From the view from out loft, you'll find a deserted Avenue B- except for the homeless man across the street who talks to pigeons." I let out a deep sigh- this was going to be a long day. "Pan right- we find a sleeping Roger, finally getting some rest after his little withdraw fit last night…We pan left again, only to find the red light on our answering machine flashing. Shall we see who we missed?"

"Will you _please_ shut the fuck up?" I hear Roger groan. Still behind my camera, I quickly rush up to him.

"Close up- Roger Davis, my very pleasant roommate who's driving us all to an early grave with his heroin withdraw." In reply, Roger sticks up his middle finger. "Isn't he lovely?"

"I swear to God," he nearly growls at me. "Get that fucking thing out of my face or you're _both_ gonna be in pieces." Wanting to still have my camera in one piece, I shut it off.

"How're you feeling?" I ask, already knowing the answer I was going to get.

"Like shit, run over twice," he spits back in a venomous tone. Yeah, just what I expected.

"Don't you think you should go to your bed? I mean, you're gonna want to rest after last night…"

"I'm in too much pain to move," he replies, a little louder than expected.

"Uhhh, okay." I was trying my hardest not to piss him off anymore. "Well, I can help you. You're gonna want to before…"

"Morning, boys!" The familiar voice of my girlfriend walking in loudly calls out.

"Ah, thanks for returning home," I say, indifferently. Maureen just stays silent and takes herself to rummage through our empty fridge.

"My head…" Roger groans. I sigh, once again, and use the little strength I have to help Roger sit up. I wait a few moments while he's sitting, then drape his arm over my shoulder to help him stand up. Roger groans, most likely from the severe pain every muscle in his body was experiencing. As I helped him walk over to his room, I felt his whole body trembling and his shoulders twitching uncontrollably. The poor guy was a wreck- and sadly, this was only day 2 of a very long withdraw. I carefully lay him down in his bed once we've made it all the way. "Mark," he says in a crackling voice. "I can't fucking do this."

"It'll all be over soon," I assure him. Roger narrows his eyes at me.

"Bullshit." I take a deep breath then turn toward the door.

"I'll be out here if you need me," I add in before exiting.

"Was it really that bad last night?" Maureen asks, cracking over a beer, minus the fact that 1) It was our last can, and 2) It was almost 10 AM. Eh, _viva la vie boheme_, I suppose.

"Well, uh, yeah," I bluntly reply. "There was a lot of kicking, screaming, punches thrown…and death threats." She really didn't give me much of a reaction. "You know, it wouldn't have killed you to stay behind with me last night." She furrows her brow at my statement.

"Pookie," she replies, almost in an offended tone. "Yes! I had this performance planned for weeks!"

"Of course you did," I grumble. The diva needed her stage, and not even her needy friends could stand in her way.

"What was that?"

"It's just…well, when Roger told us he wanted to quit, _we_ promise we'd be there for him."

"Well, if you knew it was gonna be this bad, why didn't we just send him to rehab?"

"Because we don't have any _money_, Maureen!" I snap. "Besides, it would've been a hell of a lot easier if _you_ were here to help me last night!"

"But, I told you, I had-!"

"Yeah, your performance, I know- which you could've easily postponed, but you didn't, because you can't give up _one night_ of being in the spotlight." I knew I'd regret being so harsh, but that didn't matter right now. I was pissed. Maureen's expression goes completely blank.

"You know what?" Maybe I should go." She grabs the half empty beer can and heads toward the door. I bite my lower lip- part of me wanted her to leave, but a big part of me didn't.

"Wait, Maureen!" I call out. "I didn't mean-!" Her slamming the door shut cut me off. That poor, old door will be broken in no time. I grab my camera while collapsing on the couch, pointing the lens on my face this time. "Not even ten minutes later, the loft is empty again," I announce. "Roger's in bed, I pissed Maureen off, so she left…" I take a deep breath. "And I'm alone…" I take a dramatic pause, then remember I never checked our messages. "Pan left, and you'll see we still have an unheard message." I press the play button, expecting to hear from either my mother or Collins. It was neither.

"Uh, hi, Mark, Roger…" Izzy's soft voice says. "It's Izzy. I was just calling to check up on you guys. I haven't gotten a letter in a few weeks, and you haven't called since March…"

"I mean, it's okay, I understand. Roger, I'm so sorry to hear about…everything. I really hope you're doing okay, and I wish I could be there to help you through it all." Her voice was cracking- she sounded really upset. "Just please…promise me you'll hang in there, Rog. You're gonna be greater than Robert Smith one day, remember?"

"Mark, I'm really sorry you have to do this all alone. I mean, you don't have Collins or myself around anymore…I just hope Maureen's giving all the help she can." Yeah, right. "And…I hope everything's okay…Um, call me back if you get the chance. I mean, I'll understand if you don't- with the long distance charges and you being really distracted and all. Love you guys…take care." I blankly stand there for a moment with the camera still recording.

"Shit," I mumble, shutting it off and setting it down. How could I just forget about Izzy like that? I'm honestly surprised she's not pissed at me. I mean, I know these past few weeks have been…hectic…but that's really no excuse for me to just lose touch with my best friend.

I glance over at the clock- it was 10:05 AM, which meant it was 4:05 PM there. I reach toward the phone, but pull back when I remember something. Izzy was in Italy, I was in New York, and the last few times I called her, the phone bill wasn't cheap. We were broke, and the last thing I had money for was a long-distance call. The only choice I had if I wanted to talk to her was to do what we've been doing for years- write her a letter.

I lead myself to our cluttered counter, trying to find a blank piece of paper and a pen. Once I find them, I scribble the date in the top left corner and my mind draws a blank. What the hell was I supposed to say to her now? "Hi Izzy, I'm sorry I never respond to your calls or letters anymore, but I have a girlfriend who likes to take up all my attention and a friend trying to quit his heroin addiction. Oh, and enjoy your last few months in Italy, because then you get to come home to dirty, smelly New York. Love, Mark." Yeah, that's pretty fucked up.

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Sorry, this one was shorter than usual. I have to go build a 7432 piece Lego set for my brother. -_-'' Oh, and sorry if the Mark/Maureen seemed a little OOC. I tried my best.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, here I am…Once again, I'd like to thank **livromaniaque** for making me feel slightly less insignificant on here. I've officially decided to give you the "Best Person Ever Award". Ahem…*presents a poorly decorated paper plate* HEY! HEY! Paper Plate Awards are an honor. : D Sooo, anyway, sorry it seems like its been so long. I went to NYC yesterday to see a **Tim Burton** exhibit at the MOMA with my favorite people. If anyone wants pictures, you have to prove you love me. :D

Soo, this is now in **Izzy's POV**.

**I don't own RENT. Besides, I'm too busy getting down to business to defeat those damn Huns. Heather, that was for you, because you love Asian people so much. ;)**

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"1048 Post Road, Scarsdale, New York," I excitedly tell a cab driver through his open window. The driver nods in reply and gets out of his car to open the trunk. He helps me toss my bags in, and then I hand him the address scribbled on a piece of paper. I inhale a big breath of the cool, Philadelphia air surrounding me before letting myself in the back seat of the taxi. When the vehicle begins to move, I loosely clutch my large, brown purse to my chest. I honestly don't know why; it was just a habit, I guess.

The date was September 15th, 1989, and I was in a taxi that was taking me from the Philadelphia Airport to New York. Finally, after four long, hard years of school all the way in Europe, I was returning home. At last, I was going to get to see my parents again, after spending four straight years of talking to them on the phone and not being able to see their faces. I was going to see my little brother, who had to experience the first two years of high school without me around. And, finally, I was going to see Mark and Roger again…

Obviously, I wasn't seeing them today. It's already 2:00 PM (which means I wouldn't be home till about 5), and I'm worn out from waiting in several different airports and the awful case of jetlag I had. They lived all the way in the East Village now, on Avenue B. It was at least a good hour drive from the city to Scarsdale, and I forgot to mention one tiny detail- the two were carless. But, just last month, they did offer for me to stay with them once I got home. Obviously, I accepted, because the Village was an artist's dream…well, mine, at least. Roger had to explain to me that living in the city isn't exactly as glamorous as it seemed. Of course, I refuse to believe him. Anyways, I'd have to find a way to get myself down there.

My cab driver was awfully quiet, which was making the whole situation extremely awkward. I let out a loud yawn, making it even worse. "Tired?" The chubby, middle-aged man asks me. I nod.

"Yup," was all I had to say for a reply. You know, I really was tired. I guess it wouldn't hurt to rest my eyes for a while…

"Ma'am? Ma'am?' I hear a voice call, shaking my leg. I quickly jump out of my light sleep. It was the cab driver that woke me up. "We're here." I quickly turn my head toward the window, only to find the car parked in front of a familiar landmark. The sides of my lips curl into a wide smile. I was finally home.

The house was small, white and Victorian-style. The windows were all in an arch shape and were wide open- along with the front door- letting the cool, 65-degree breeze enter the house. A light brown, wooden rocking chair sat on the right side, next to the matching porch swing. The garden was full of flowers in every color, hinting to our neighbors that my mom had way too much free time on her hands. A short, white fence surrounded all of our property.

I reluctantly pay the cab driver they extremely expensive fare, grab my bags from the trunk, and lug them up the steps that lead to my front door. I was greeted by the sweet sounds of Luciano Pavarotti quietly penetrating through the house and the smell of basil and boiling tomato sauce, which obviously meant dad was cooking. "Hello?" I call out, taking a step in the door. "I'm home!" I glance over at the clock on the wall- it was 5:15 PM. I was ready for bed by now, considering it was 11:15 PM in the time zone I became accustomed to. A few moments later, I hear light and quick footsteps coming from upstairs, and eventually see my mother coming down. The short, middle-aged woman with black and partially grey hair rushes toward me and engulfs me in a tight hug.

"Isabella!" She excitedly shouts, kissing my face repeatedly. "Mia bella bambina! Welcome home!" I smile and hug her back.

"Thanks, ma," I reply, at a loss for words. She takes a step back to observe the daughter she hasn't seen in years. Her smile fades a little.

"Ay, sweetheart, _what_ are you wearing?" She asks. I stare down at my outfit selection- baggy cargo shorts, a white v-neck and black flip-flops. It was comfy, simple, and no different from what I wore every day. "I was hoping you'd pick up some fashion sense over there…" Ah, what a "welcome home" that was.

"Uh, well, I've kind of been stuck on planes all day, ma." I state, rolling my eyes.

"Well, go change! We have some family coming over soon!" I let out a sigh.

"Did we really have to do this today? I'm really tired, and-"

"Go!" She demands.

Hey, ma, I don't know if you remember this, but I'm 24 years old now. I think I can make decisions for myself.

Obviously, she didn't remember, because she shoves my bags at me and points upstairs. I sigh, not wanting to lose an argument to my mother 5 minutes after walking in the door, and drag my bags and myself upstairs. "And hurry up! Your father and Nick will be home from the store any minute!"

My old room looked so…empty. When I still lived here, my desk was always covered in paint tubes, charcoal pencils and scrap paper. My purple walls were covered in posters and artwork. My bed was never made, with the comforter always rolled up somewhere in the corner of it, and you could barely see my floor with all of the clothes that covered it. Now, everything was completely clear and clean. It was actually kind of frightening. I throw my suitcase on my newly made bed and un-zipper it, pulling out the cleanest, nicest outfit that was closest to the top- which was simply a pair of faded, blue jeans and a green tank top. I didn't really own any nice, dressy clothes; I always preferred to be plain and comfortable.

I didn't have to wait very long for the whole family to come swarming in the door, or for them to raid our pantry for every single alcoholic drink known to man. If the neighbors heard us next door, they probably thought some horrible fight involving the whole family was going on with the way everyone was yelling. What they probably didn't understand was that my family was just full of loud people. Eventually, they got even too loud and obnoxious for my sake, and after they popped a bottle of champagne and toasted to me, I took my glass outside and sat on the porch swing. It was about 7:00 and the sun was just setting. I made sure to close the front door on my way out, leaving me to swing back and fourth in peace. "Tired of us already?" I turn around, only to find the huge 16 year old I refused to believe was still my little brother, Nick. I sigh and flash him a small smile.

"Nah, I just a headache already," I explain. He replies with a most likely subconscious nod and takes a seat next to me on the swing, which I'm surprised didn't completely brake off because of the nothing-but-muscle teenager. We sat in silence for a few moments, which I felt the need to break. "Nick?"

"Huh?" He asks, staring off into the empty street.

"Promise me you'll lay off the steroids, okay?" He turns his head toward me and arches an eyebrow.

"What the hell are you talking about, exactly?" I nearly jump out of my seat.

"Look at you!" I exclaim. "Do you even remember how tiny you used to be?!"

"It's been four years, Izz," he explains with a chuckle. "People change; and, besides- were you expecting me to stay a scrawny 12 year old forever?"

I spent the rest of my night talking to my brother and catching up on all the years I missed while I was away.

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I awoke the next day to a chorus of whispers and a sudden, heavy pressure on the back of my legs. "Whoever you are," I groan, "go away."

I didn't fall asleep till 2 AM last night. Jetlag was such a bitch. Whoever was trying to bother me at this hour was seriously going to get an arm ripped off.

"You've already slept through half the day, dear," a familiar voice mocks me. My head immediately perks up. Was that…? I rub my eyes and sit myself up, only to see exactly whom I thought I heard. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

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MUAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry, I felt the need to leave you off at a cliffhanger, even though you probably know exactly what's happening from here. ^-^ Soooo, while you wait for the next chapter and I go finish my Non-West project, I suggest you all get your asses on On Demand and go watch **Repo! The Genetic Opera**, which is my new obsession, thanks to Heather. We've come to describing it as, "Rent and Sweeney Todd, with a hint of Rocky Horror's twistedness." :)

~ Veeeeeeeg, (or Butter, hah.)


	5. Chapter 5

Ohheyy. I'm back, again. So, thanks to those of you who added this to your alert list…even though you didn't review. Anyway, sorry if it feels like there's been less and less of me, I had a busy week. :P Mehh, soo…I'm still addicted to Repo! It still hasn't passed Rent, though…^-^ heh…

**Mark's POV this time. **

**I OWN NOTHING. Fml.**

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This moment honestly felt unreal right now.

Four years. It's been four years since I've seen my best friend, even though it felt like so much longer. And now, right now, I was standing in the doorway of her old bedroom.

I almost didn't recognize the room when I walked in. I mean, I don't ever remember being able to see the floor in here- or the desk or bed…yeah, you get the point. Every single poster, painting and picture was torn off the walls and seemed to be carefully and neatly placed in a cardboard box on top of the desk. The only way Roger and I even knew this was the room we'd seen so many times growing up was from the big lump underneath the black comforter on the bed. Besides, Izzy was the only one in the house with an excuse to sleep until 2:30 in the afternoon.

I glance over at Roger, unsure of what to do about our sleeping friend. He, on the other hand, just rolled his eyes, which totally screamed: "I didn't wait in a fucking train station all morning to watch her sleep," and brings himself inside, letting himself roughly fall on the edge of the bed. Our friend twitches under the blanket.

"Whoever you are," the farmilliar voice groans, "go away."

"You've already slept through half the day, dear," Roger mocks her. The top half of the blanket shows a sudden movement this time. Izzy slowly rises from underneath the blanket while rubbing her eyes. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

"Roger..!" Izzy says, slightly confused.

"Well, I'm glad you remember," was his smart-ass reply.

"Where's-?"

"Over there," he cuts me off and points to me, still standing in the doorway.

"How'd you-"

"A magnificent little place called Grand Central Station- maybe you've heard of it." Okay, that was enough of that; a pissed off Izzy wasn't pretty.

"Uh, can you get off my legs before they go completely numb?"

"Uh, can you get out of bed?"

"Okay, okay," I cut them off, letting myself take a few more steps inside. "C'mon, Rog, Izzy's obviously exhausted. Maybe we should wait."

"Wait for what?" Izzy asks, clearly drained. I tried not to laugh at her current state- her brown eyes were surrounded by extensive, dark circles, with her eyelids fighting to stay open, and her darker brown hair was pushed in every possible direction. She looked like she maybe got two hours of sleep.

"We're moving you in today!" Roger exclaims, a little louder than necessary. Although, it was nice to see him happy again- it feels like it's been years since I've seen him this way. Maybe Izzy moving in with us was an even better idea than I thought.

Izzy lets herself fall back on her bed. "I thought we were gonna do that, like, next week…"

"Jeez," I murmur. "What a greeting we get…"

"Maybe you shouldn't have woken me up, and then you would've gotten the pleasant greeting!" I couldn't help but side with Roger for once- we've been waiting for years to see her, we waited all morning in the train station, and now we're getting yelled at because she doesn't want to get out of bed.

"Alright," I say, making eye contact with Roger, "fuck this." I tear the comforter off the bed and toss it on the floor- I knew I'd have to pick it up later, though, because I feared a 4'11" pioneer mother, chasing me around the house with a wooden spoon.

"What the hell are-?" Our friend's question was cut off by Roger, scooping her up in his arms bridal-style.

"Alright, let's go," I say, slowly walking out the door with Roger very casually following behind me.

"PUT ME DOWN!" Izzy yells, furiously kicking her legs.

"I can do that," Roger bluntly states, letting her fall to the ground. The look on her face was priceless; I couldn't help but opt for the beloved camera in my bag and get it on film.

"Welcome home, Izzy," I smugly state from behind the lens. The look on her face then changed to, "Get that fucking thing out of my face before I shove it down your throat and pull it back out of your ass."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself…"

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Roger and I waited downstairs, seated at the kitchen counter, for about thirty minutes. After clearly pissing off our friend, we backed off for a while and gave her some time to shower, get dressed and just wake up in general. A booming, low-pitched, Italian opera voice penetrated the house while Mrs. Amoretti cleaned the dishes and Mr. Amoretti retrieved the remainder of Izzy's moving boxes from upstairs, which he refused to let us help him with. I remember that man was practically my hero growing up, and I'm guessing it was probably the same with Roger. He was like the astounding father we both lacked who was actually willing to spend quality time with us. He would take us fishing, hunting, or to do any other hobby that made us feel like bloodthirsty grown men. Collins and Izzy disdained us for our "cruel actions", but that never appeared to stop us. As much as I loved Mrs. A, it got kind of frustrating trying to talk to her and having her call you seventeen different names before she can actually get your correct title, in an accent you could barely piece together. I always tried so hard not to laugh at her, even though early signs of Alzheimer's weren't exactly funny.

"Holy shit, Mark!" Roger exclaims, bringing me out of my deep thought and back into reality. "Look, we're gonna have a TV finally!" Mr. A just shoots us a questionable look.

"Izzy is getting the television set," he says, smugly, "not you." Roger jokingly returns his smartass attitude.

"Oh, well then," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "It's better than what we have now- as in, no TV at all." The look Izzy's parents gave us was priceless: blank, dumbfounded, and screaming, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"The saddest part is," I add in with a sigh, "he's being completely honest." Before they could reply, we all turned our attention to the sounds of footsteps walking down the upstairs hallway, toward the staircase. "Shall we get the princess's grand entrance on film?"

One by one, Izzy let herself fall to the next step, looking the most miserable I've ever seen her in my life. She glances down at all of her belongings, then up at her parents. "You just couldn't wait to get rid of me, couldn't you?" She bluntly asks.

"Uh, more like your friends couldn't wait to see you," I state from behind the camera.

"Then why don't you put that thing down and give me a fucking hug?" She asks with a smirk. As carefully as possible, I set my camera down on the counter and then hurry to embrace my long-lost friend. Obviously appalled at her daughter's choice if words, Mrs. A tried to ignore what had just been said and smiles at us.

"Now, this is the greeting we were waiting for," I say once our arms are tightly wrapped around each other.

"Yeah, that we waited all morning in Grand Central Station for, and I don't even get acknowledged." When I finally let Izzy go, she was in the middle of rolling her eyes.

"Oh, please. You didn't have to spend your whole day flying across the world to get here, so I really don't want to hear it," she tells Roger, who eventually just gives in and hugs her, too. "Ugh, Jesus Christ, Rog," she takes a step back once he lets go. "When was the last time you bathed?"

I take a guess and ask, "Last week?"

"Hilarious, Marky- last night, actually, but it's about 90 degrees outside, and the trains aren't exactly air conditioned." Izzy replies by making her world-renowned face where she narrows her eyes and scrunches up her nose- which, of course, led to Roger and I bursting out into a choir of laughter. "Please tell me you recorded that one." Oh, shit- I forgot the camera was still on.

"By pure luck, yes," I reply, switching it into it's "off" mode.

"So, you just came to abuse me, I'm assuming?"

"Actually, we came to kidnap you, so grab your shit and get to the car."

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Meh, so now that all that transition's over, we can finally get into the actual story line. Sorry if there were some punctuation issues- I typed most of this on an iTouch, and I'm too lazy to go back and look for any I might've missed. Peace. :P

Ps, anyone who took my advice on watching **Repo!** and wants a good fanfic to read, go look up **awkwardmonstersxx**, aka the love of my life, and read some Grilo goodness. :)


	6. Chapter 6

This one's short to a point where it disgusts me. I'm sorry; I just have to prove the fact that I'm not dead. Normally, I don't publish anything less than 3 pages in a Word document…:P

**Guess what? I TRICKED YOU. IT'S IN MARK'S POV AGAIN. I don't like being predictable. ^-^ I STILL OWN NADA.**

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Izzy was taking a lot longer to adjust to the loft than I hoped for. I know it's only been two weeks, but I thought that by now, she'd at least understand the fact that nothing stays clean where Roger and I stay. It was a little surprising, actually- I know for a fact I already explained Izzy had the neatness of a man. So, when we brought her back and she told us our place was a mess, you know it had to be true.

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"_Alright," I say, hesitantly sliding our door open. "Here it is- home sweet home." Izzy stays silent for a moment, blankly staring into our wasteland of useless junk._

"_It's…lovely," she emotionlessly states, carefully placing a box down in the corner._

"_I felt that coming." Roger walks in right on cue, bringing a little life back into the room._

"_Well?" He asks, adding two more boxes into her pile. "What do ya think, Izz?"_

"_Its messier than my room," she contentedly states._

"_Well, looks like we proved the impossible," I quickly spit back. Roger makes a noise equivalent to the one of an angry cat._

_"Alright, ladies, put the claws away for now." Izzy then proceeds to take my face in her hand and squishes my cheeks together. I quickly pull back._

"_Chill out, Marky. You really think that I, of all the people in the world, would mind a little mess?" Clearly, she did._

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It's all very confusing. If you went to Izzy's old room about four years ago, you wouldn't be able to walk in because the floor wouldn't be visible. Here, if you leave a glass on the counter and left it there for more than a minute, she'll rush to wash it and put it away. Her excuse? "I don't want it to end up worse than my room."

Izzy clearly still wasn't used to the six-hour time difference. She'd end up crashing on the couch at about 6 PM, and then waking up at about 1 AM, which is when she'd either uselessly walk around in circles or clean obsessively. A few days ago, she actually took our clothes to the laundromat in the middle of the night (which we got mad at her for, because she shouldn't have been wandering around our area this late at night.) I think her real excuse for the OCD attack is the fact that no one's awake that early to entertain her. Unfortunately, her sleeping patterns have gotten in the way of Roger's and my plans to show her around the city.

The first week of Izzy living with us, Roger was the happiest I'd seen him in forever. He even picked up his guitar for the first time in two months. Izzy and I would sit for what seemed like hours and listen to him play. Although he'd just throw together random chords, it would flow into our ears as a masterwork- it was obvious Roger's music was a sound that the two of us missed dearly. Of course, once it faded into silence, it would turn into one of Izzy's infamous, "You know what this reminds me of?" moments and she would go on a rant about basically nothing, and Roger and I would just smile and nod, pretending to listen. But, all that really mattered was that we were finally together again, and we were all…happy.


End file.
